


From Hell, With Love

by snapdragonpop007



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Demon Shane Madej, Ghosts, I did Actual Research for this, Investigations, M/M, Pre-Slash, Psychic Ryan Bergara, Time Skips, and Beelzebub, and I'm a little upset by that, guest appearence by Brent, they're ghost hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23201785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapdragonpop007/pseuds/snapdragonpop007
Summary: Shane Madej is a demon, and Ryan Bergara is a psychic medium.These are facts.Ryan knows one of these facts, and Shane knows both of them.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara & Shane Madej, Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 14
Kudos: 659





	From Hell, With Love

“What don’t you like about the room, Ry?”

“I don’t know, it just—it feels weird.” Ryan crossed his arms high over his chest, letting out a little _humf_ noise and shrugging his shoulders. 

The room in question was the top bedroom in a little house in the middle of Iowa that had gained a rather avid following due to some murders in the late 1800’s and a movie made many years later. It was a nice enough looking bedroom--certainly nicer that some that Shane and Ryan had slept in before--but it was cold and drafty and the entire room tilted a bit if you looked at it just right.

Shane blinked at Ryan. 

“What?” Ryan curled a little bit more in on himself, a frown tugging at his mouth. “You asked, I answered.”

“Well, yeah but…” Shane waved his hand, dropping it when it was clear Ryan wasn’t going to add anything more. 

Ryan had never been the most eloquent speaker—and Shane thanked God for that. He had met his fair share of psychics who couldn’t ever seem to shut up, and if Shane had to deal with that flowery spiritual bullshit coming from Ryan then Shane might actually have to kill him. 

He didn’t care if he would be thrown back in Hell and chewed out by Beelzebub. 

“There’s not something in here, is there?” Ryan asked, taking a step closer to Shane as he looked around the room. His eyes skipped right over the hunched over shadowy figure in the corner. 

“Ye-ah,” Shane drew the word out. “Zane--”

“Alexander.” Ryan quickly corrected. 

“Right, that.” Shave flipped his hand in a _What are you gonna do about it_ manor and Ryan’s eyes widened. “He’s just chilling in the corner. He’s not gonna hurt you.” 

“He murdered his entire family.” 

“ _I_ won't let him hurt you.” Shane amended, then gave Ryan a bright smile. 

Ryan did not return it.

Shane hummed, blinked once to flick his eyes back to their hazel, then stretched his arms over his head. He groaned as his joints cracked and his muscles stretched, and he let his wings shift around a bit and stretch out before tucking them away. “Let’s get this show on the road, little guy.” 

Ryan wasn’t frowning, but he most certainly wasn’t smiling either.

“I hate you.” he said. 

“Love you too.” Shane replied. 

\--

When Shane had been asked to go Topside to watch one Ryan Steven Bergara, this century's most powerful psychic medium, he had tried to say no.

“I haven’t been Topside in years!” Shane ignored how whiny it sounded, shifting around in the chair as he threw his hands up. 

“Which is why you should go.” Beelzebub ignored his dramatics, neatly pulling a file from the bottom of the stack on their desk. The pile didn’t even shift. “It’s not good to stay cooped up down here--especially someone of your type.”

Shane wasn’t sure if that was a jab at his wings or his personality. Either way, he took it as an insult.

“Beez, I haven’t been topside since--fuck, 1800’s?”

“1884.” Beelzebub answered. “You’re lucky I didn’t put you in charge of Sarah Winchester while you were up there.”

“Exactly!” Shane threw his hands up again, ignoring the second half of what Beelzebub said. He hadn’t wanted to hang around the old gal and do something as mundane as observing house construction, so as soon as Beelzebub had showed up with that particular file in hand Shane popped back off to Hell and left his bridge to gather dust and ghosts. “Since that dumb bridge!” 

“Which you have severely neglected.” Beelzebub shot him a look over the top of the file. 

Shane huffed. “That was just a joke. I was joking.”

Beelzebub sighed. They set the file down and lifted a hand to their temple, which was when Shane knew this was serious. “Shane--Lucifer is worried about you. I’m worried about you--you’ve been down here for too long and it’s--”

Beelzebub broke off with another sigh. 

“This place isn’t good for you.” Beelzebub said softly. 

And it wasn’t—dear fuck it wasn’t—but Shane was just bitter and angry enough to not leave, to stay in the brimstone and the fire and let his wings turn gray and throw a curse up to the sky every time he saw it.

“I—“ Shane swallowed, guilt making his throat tight and his stomach swoop. 

“It’s sixty years with Ryan, at most, and if you—“ Beelzebub paused, took a deep breath. “If you really don’t like it I can send someone else.” Beelzebub fell silent, and then—“please, Shane.”

Shane took in a deep breath. “Let me see the file.”

Beelzebub snapped the file in Shane’s hands.

Shane huffed, Beelzebub smiled, and Shane peeled the manila file open.

The man staring back at him looked nothing like how Shane expected the most powerful psychic medium of the century to look. He had a goofy smile and bright eyes and an entirely too positive look on the world and--he had a _YouTube_ show, holy _fuck_. 

Shane looked back up at Beelzebub. “No.”

“Yes.” Beelzebub answered. 

“This isn’t--no.” Shane repeated.

Beelzebub hummed with a smug little smile on their face. “Ryan Steven Bergara, age twenty five. His abilities are outstanding, really.”

“He has a fucking--this is a ghost hunting show!” Shane turned the file around, pointing at the lines like it would somehow change this entire thing. Shane would have gladly taken the Sarah Winchester assignment over this. House construction? Vague threats? Right up his alley. 

“He will have one.” Beelzebub frowned. “Really, Shane--I thought you knew how to read.” 

Shane narrowed his eyes. “Fuck you, Beez.” 

Beelzebub just smiled.

—

Ryan was always tired during and after investigations, but he was so jacked up on nerves and jitters that he could never sleep no matter how much he wanted to. 

“Shane?”

Shane grunted, the mound of blankets shifting and his arm darting out to smack Ryan’s. 

Ryan had made this an overnight investigation for no other reason than that a fit of bravery at 4 o’ clock in the morning seized him before common sense did. It wasn’t turning out nearly as bad as what he thought it would—Shane had done his Demonic Assertion thing as soon as they stepped into the house (and wasn’t that still strange to think about) and they had a relatively comfortable bed to sleep on. Sure, they had to share it, but at least they _got_ a bed. 

“Are you still awake?” Ryan asked. 

“No.” Shane’s voice was muffled by the blankets he had burrowed under, but not enough that Ryan still couldn’t make him out. “Leave a voicemail.”

It was so strange to think that a demon slept. 

Although Shane had told him that he didn’t necessarily need sleep, it was just something he enjoyed doing. _You just close your eyes and open ‘em again and you're recharged!_ He had said when Ryan had finally gathered up the courage to ask him about it. _What a concept!_

“Shane, I heard something,” Ryan ignored his protest and smacked his side until Shane poked his head out from under the blankets. 

He looked like he had actually been asleep, and Ryan only felt a little guilty about it. 

“In the doorway.” Ryan elaborated.

He hadn’t actually heard anything. 

He had felt his stomach drop and his heart seize and the air leave his lungs and a shadow pass by him, but Shane never believed his _feelings_. It was easier to just say that he heard something. 

Shane sighed, and looked towards the bedroom door. They had left it open both for recording purposes and because Ryan absolutely did not want to sleep with that door closed, because what if he locked himself in with Alexander and he got axed by a ghost in the middle of the night? Shane had told him he would be with an actual demon and that he was an idiot, and Ryan had told Shane to go fuck himself. 

Shane stared at the door for longer than what he usually would, which meant something was there.

Whatever it was though, Ryan couldn’t see. 

“You heard wood creaking, Ry,” Shane looked back at him. His eyes were still black, but then he blinked and Ryan could see the whites of them. “Now will you let me sleep?”

Ryan pulled his own blanket further up until it was tucked just under his chin, like it could somehow keep him safer than the literal demon he was sleeping next to. “I make no promises, big guy.”

Shane groaned and flopped his head back onto his pillow. 

Ryan wanted to reach across the small divide of pillows and blankets and take Shane’s hand and pull it against his chest and say that he was sorry for waking him up. 

Instead he flicked Shane’s shoulder and grinned when he glared. 

\--

Shane’s first day going Topside for the first time in a good hundred years was not a pleasant one. 

A lot had changed since 1886. The sun wasn’t nearly as bright, buildings were way taller now (and they made Shane dizzy every time he looked up at them) and the glass on them--holy shit did that hurt to look at. Everything was way too loud and made his ears ring. The air smelled awful, and Shane had worn a face mask just until he could get used to the smoke and smog and people. 

And cars.

Dear Lucifer, he _hated_ cars. 

He could, however, admit that the clothes were nicer to move around in, less restrictive and scratchy, and it did feel nice to stretch his wings and shake loose the years of ash and brimstone ground into his feathers. And it was nice to look at the sun again, even if it had dimmed since it’s first day of life.

Not that he would ever admit that to Beelzebub. 

And Shane didn’t know why he didn’t think that he wouldn’t run into any angels--Ryan was important and angels liked to dick around on Earth anyway--but running into Gabriel had been just as jarring anyway. 

Or maybe it was just because he had run into God’s Messenger at Buzzfeed. 

“Shamsiel,” Ryan had just introduced the two of them before skipping off as one of the supervisors called him away. Ryan was a delightful ball of sunshine and Shane almost hated how quickly he got attached. “I didn’t realize they were letting you out of Hell now.”

“Gabriel,” Shane narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t realize you were still alive.” 

Gabriel bristled, and Shane grinned. 

They hadn’t seen each other since Eden. 

“You still kept your name,” Gabriel said instead. “Shane. It’s not that different from your old one, is it?” 

“At least I didn’t go with _Brent_.” Shane shot back. 

Shane hadn’t been stripped of his name when he fell, which was...odd, and had left him with a strange attachment to it. It meant that he still had his old title, his legions and his status. He could, conceivably, walk right back up to Heaven and take his old post back and no one could tell him no. Because while he had fallen, he was still Shamsiel, still a cherubim, still the protector of Eden, still the Prince of Paradise.

It left him in this odd stasis of not being a full angel, but not being a full demon either. 

Although, Shane had spent so much time in Hell that the brimstone fires had burned away most of his Grace anyway. 

“Let’s go get lunch before someone else drags me away,” Ryan slid back up to Shane, looping his arm through Shane’s and tugging him to his side. “Taco Bell sound good?”

Shane blinked and looked down at Ryan. 

He hadn’t expected this century's most powerful psychic medium to be this short, nor this touchy.

“Sure.” Shane had never had Taco Bell. 

“You gonna come too?” Ryan looked to Gabriel--Brent, Shane supposed--who shook his head and took a step back. 

“Nah, I'll leave you and Shane to your budding friendship,” he said this with a smile to Ryan and a glare to Shane. Shane just grinned back at him.

The nice thing about this odd duality that Shane lived in meant that Shane was still higher ranking than Gabriel, both in his angelic status and demonic status. In Heaven he had been a prince, and in Hell he answered only to Lucifer and Beelzebub. Gabriel could spit at him and hurl insults all he wanted, but he couldn’t touch him.

\--

Shane had given up on sleeping the fifth time Ryan had woken him up. 

He stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering why it was a popcorn ceiling when this house was built in the 1800’s. He was sure Ryan had said something about it during his breakdown of the house and it’s history, but Shane couldn’t remember right now. 

“Hey, Ry?”

“Hmm?” Ryan was on his phone. He was facing Shane, so he couldn’t tell what Ryan was doing, but with the low phone lighting he assumed that Ryan was playing one of his dumb candy crush games. 

“Why is this a popcorn ceiling?” 

Ryan paused. He blinked, set his phone down, and looked at Shane. “What?”

“The ceiling,” Shane drew his hand out from underneath the blanket long enough to point up at it. “Popcorn ceilings weren't’ a thing until the 1930’s.”

“Why do you--?” Ryan blinked again, then shook his head. “The ceiling was rotting out, so they redid it. I guess they were more concerned with the structural integrity than the historical aspect of it.” 

“That’s a shame.” Shane sighed. “I loved looking at tin ceilings.”

A laugh jumped out of Ryan, completely unexpected and wonderfully delightful. Shane smiled in response to it, rolling over onto his side so he could take in the laughter lines and shakes and scrunched eyes and white teeth of Ryan’s laugh. It was such a fascinating thing to watch—utterly predictable and completely different every time. 

“Tin ceilings, huh?” Ryan wheezed it out. 

“Yup,” Shane popped the end of the word as obnoxiously as he could, waving his hand around in a broad gesture to all the tin ceilings he’d seen before. “Much more aesthetically pleasing to look at.” 

“Of course.” Ryan propped his elbow up and dropped his cheek in his palm. He was looking down at Shane, the light from his phone (still lying on the bed and waiting for Ryan to crush more candy) casting dark shadows and bright highlights across his skin. It was eerie to look at, and Shane never wanted to look away. 

“Popcorn ceilings are not as cool as their food counterparts, Ryan.”

That got another laugh—a sharp wheeze that bloomed into a ringing sound, and Shane watched in delight as the laughter rolled through Ryan. 

“You have been talking about ceilings for way too long, dude,” Ryan got it out between giggles.

“Or you just haven’t been talking about ceilings enough.” Shane countered.

“Oh my god, shut up, Shane.” Ryan gently punched his shoulder, and Shane laughed. 

Ryan smiled softly at him, and Shane felt something warm flutter in his chest. He had been feeling that a lot, actually. 

“Were you on earth in the 1800’s?” He asked.

Shane hummed. “Yeah, for a bit. It was the late 1800’s, though—1880’s or so. I think I was collecting souls? Or I was supposed to be, I ended up skipping out and haunting a bridge for a bit.” 

Ryan arched his eyebrows, and Shane shrugged. Well, shrugged as well as anyone could while lying down.

“I was still collecting souls! I just wasn’t collecting them as efficiently as I could have been.”

Shane remembered that a bit more clearly than what he would have liked to. He gave up on Alton Bridge pretty quickly, deciding that mundane hauntings weren’t for him, and skipped back down to Hell. Beelzebub cornered him as soon as he got off the elevator and chewed him out in front of the main offices, and Lucifer had just laughed when Shane went to complain. Shane hadn’t enjoyed his time up on Earth, but it was still rude. 

“No, it’s not that it’s just—“ Ryan squinted at him and tilted his head. “I can’t see you haunting a bridge.” 

Shane grinned. “But Ryan, I already own the bridge.”

It took a moment for it to click, but when it did Shane could see Ryan’s eyes go wide and bright and his mouth open just a sliver in his surprise. “You—you mother fucker—“ 

Shane laughed as Ryan smacked him. 

—

Ryan wanted to do Unsolved with Brent. 

Shane wasn't _upset_ by that. It was normal for psychics to be more drawn towards angelic presences, and he had known Brent for longer anyway. It didn’t matter how quickly he and Ryan had become friends—he probably had a better on screen dynamic with Brent anyway, and Shane knew a lot of the true crime cases Ryan had picked already, so he probably couldn’t just sit passingly through it and—

And fine, Shane was upset. 

He was just good at hiding it. 

He had gotten so attached to Ryan so quickly, and Shane had a feeling that Beelzebub knew that would happen, so when he went home that night he threw some lambs blood and brimstone into his bathtub, sat on the floor and waited for Beelzebub’s face to pop up. 

He had used up his last few bags of blood for this, and he made a note in his phone to pick up more. 

“You knew.” He said as soon as the blood cleared enough to see in. 

“Knew what?” Beelzebub asked. They were at their desk, pen tucked neatly behind a pointy ear. 

“You knew!” Shane said again, rocking forward on his heels and bracing his hands against the lip of the tub. He did not want to fall in again—the last time he didn’t that he had smelled like blood for weeks. 

Beelzebub blinked. “I knew that you and Ryan would get along, yes.” 

Shane scowled. “I hate you.” 

“It’s why I assigned you the case. We can’t exactly have someone Ryan doesn’t get along with watching over him.” Beelzebub ignored what Shane just said, set something down, then gave their full attention to him. “What are you really mad about, Shane?” 

Shane bit the inside of his cheek. 

“Ryan asked Gabriel to do unsolved with him.” It sounded so childish now that Shane’s said it out loud, but it also felt so goddamn good to get that off his chest. 

“That does not hinder your ability to watch him.” Beelzebub said. 

“Well, yeah but—“

“Are you jealous?” Lucifer came from, quite literally, nowhere, shoving Beelzebub out of the way to get closer to the scrying bowl. “Is our Shane actually jealous? Beelzebub, mark the day!” 

“I’m not—“ but Shane was, so it wasn’t exactly like he could defend himself. “Oh, fuck off.” 

Lucifer huffed. “Don’t be rude. _You_ called _us_.”

“I called Beelzebub, not you.” 

“We’re a package deal, Shane, you know that,” Lucifer tilted his head in a smile. “So, gimme the deets—“

Shane waved his hand through the blood and broke the connection. His phone let out three sharp buzzes a second later, scooting across the bathroom counter with each one. Shane ignored it until it clattered into the sink, then he got off his knees and scooped the phone out. He unlocked it, put Lucifer on silent, then thumbed up to his messages with Ryan. 

Shane wanted to text him. 

What on Earth would he text him? 

Hey, Ry, I’m a little jealous you’re doing Unsolved with someone else. Hey, did you know Brent is an asshole? I know I expressed very little interest in your silly little show but I would love to do it with you. I know a lot about true crime cases! And hey, depending on which ones you pick I might have been there for it.

Shane sighed, and instead texted Ryan _movie night?_

He slipped the phone in his back pocket, drained the blood from the tub and ran the shower to wash away the tint. He sprayed a little Febreze (it sent Shane into a fit of sneezes and watery eyes, but he was well aware he couldn’t have a bathroom smelling like blood), and as he was washing off his hands with his unscented soap that wasn’t really unscented Ryan texted back _sure! I’ll be over in an hour._

Shane smiled as he read it. 

\--

“Sorry for keeping you awake.”

“Eh, you’re fine,” Shane waved a hand, not looking away from his phone as he scrolled through his twitter feed. He wanted to shake the hand of whoever invented social media because it was truly delightful. “It’s not like I need it.” 

“Well, yeah, but--”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” Shane cut Ryan off before he could launch into a rambling apology for something that he didn’t even need to apologize for. “How are you feeling?”

Shane had scared off Xander or Alexander or whatever his name was, but he was far from the only spirit still lingering in the house. Shane felt bad for the ghosts of the wife and kids--it was far from fair that they were still stuck with the man that put them there--but Shane couldn’t help ghosts and spirits cross over. He could collect their souls through deals and bartering, but the actual crossing over bit was out of his jurisdiction. 

Ryan blinked. “I--fine, I guess? I’m scared shitless but I feel fine.” 

Shane hummed. 

“Why?” Ryan asked.

“Why what?”

“Why are you asking me how I’m feeling?” 

Now Shane blinked. “I always ask you how you’re feeling.”

“I know, but--” Ryan sighed and flipped back over onto his back. “Why do you ask me? You always say the energy thing is bullshit.” 

And sure, Shane did. He wrote off Ryan’s bad feelings and rambling about energy fields as hooey more for the camera than anything else (he did have a role to play, after all). Shane knew very well that energy fields were a real thing as well as the feelings they evoke, and he also knew that Ryan was way more sensitive to it than most other people. Sometimes he could sense things before Shane could. 

It was really quite impressive, actually.

Shane set his phone down and sat up and looked down at Ryan. “I don’t--Ryan, you’re physic, of course I'm going to ask how you’re feeling.”

Ryan blinked, then sat up. He looked startled. “I’m _what?_ ” 

\--

Ryan had found out Shane wasn’t human very quickly. 

Brent had left the show a few months in with the excuse that he had gotten another job somewhere else, although Shane knew it was because he had gotten called back up to Heaven for a different assignment. Heaven wasn’t nearly as concerned with psychic mediums as Hell was, even if they were supposedly one of the most powerful. 

Shane hadn’t been sorry to see him go. 

In fact, he had waved Brent off with a smile before turning right back around and offering Ryan a hug and some popcorn and an offer of taking Brent’s place on the show if he still wanted to continue while Ryan sat panicking in Shane’s living room. 

“Would you really?” Ryan had asked.

“Of course,” Shane had answered. “You worked so hard on this—I don’t want it to fall apart just because you can’t find another co-host.” 

Then Ryan has hugged _him_ , and Shane’s heart skipped a beat and thought he was at least a little bit fucked. 

And then the Sally House happened, and Shane thought he was a lot fucked.

“Hey, little guy—“ Ryan had Shane backed up into a corner, both literally and figuratively, and while Ryan was trying to be brave his eyes were too wide and his hands too shaky to be anything but terrified. “Let’s maybe put the holy water down, yeah?” 

It wouldn’t kill him. Shane still had enough Grace for it not to completely burn him off, but it would certainly hurt an approximate fuck ton. 

“Why?” Ryan took a step closer and Shane flinched. 

“Come on, Ry, I’m not—I’m not gonna hurt you—“ 

Ryan faltered at that, but only for a moment. “That’s not—you’re probably possessed—how do I know you're not Sally, or—fuck, I don’t know!” 

Shane, despite being pinned to the wall, scoffed and wished he wasn’t as offended as he was. “Oh, come on I am not _Sally_.”

Sally had stayed clear of Shane when he first entered the house, but sensing Ryan had made her cocky and just a little dangerous, so Shane had tossed her back into Hell while he had been lying on the pentagram in the basement before she could take any more energy from Ryan. Lucifer would chew his ass off about it later, Shane was sure, but Lucifer could also kiss his ass.

“Then—then you're possessed by something else!”

“Ryan, I’m not possessed,” Shane took in a deep breath and tensed up. Ryan looked ready to squirt some holy water at him. “I’m me. Good ‘ol Shanester—“

“Prove it.” Ryan jerked the bottle, and a bit of water splashed out. 

Shane knew Ryan would figure it out eventually. You couldn’t hide a demon from a psychic no matter how hard you tried (and Shane had, in fact, tried before). He just didn’t expect it to happen this quickly. But then again, Ryan _was_ psychic, and Shane hadn’t been around other demons since he popped out of Hell that he had slipped so fast, forgetting to blink his eyes back to normal before looking back at Ryan and of course Ryan had noticed, because how can you not notice that? 

“Come on—“

“What’s my favorite tea?” Ryan asked.

Shane sighed. “You don’t like tea, you coffee gremlin.” 

“Favorite movie?”

“Paddington.” 

“What’s my fish’s name?”

“Oh, seriously, Ryan--”

“What. Is the name. Of my fish?” Ryan asked it again, stepping a little closer and holding the holy water out a little further, and Shane put his hands up.

“Estaban, but you call it poopy face,” he answered.

And it was that answer that got Ryan to back down, to lower his bottle of holy water, to look at Shane and step back and let Shane follow, to take in a deep breath and look Shane straight in the eyes and say _what the fuck, Shane?_

And Shane had been so god damn relieved by that that he had hunched over and laughed. 

\--

“Did—you didn’t know?” Shane asked.

“No!” Ryan had gotten off the bed and was pacing now, the blanket he took with him sliding low on his shoulders. “How the hell would I know!” 

“How could you _not_ know?” 

Ryan opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. He let out an odd whine, then fell back on the bed in a heap of blankets and limbs. Shane went after him, sitting down next to him and placing his hand on Ryan’s back. Ryan leaned back into it, and Shane bit the inside of his cheek.

“All those weird feelings you get? That’s you being able to connect with ghosts.” Shane gently ran his hand up and down Ryan’s spine. “ You get tired and dizzy and light headed because they take some of your energy to connect with you.”

Ryan straight up squeaked.

“It’s not a bad thing!” Shane quickly continued. “All that energy they take gets replenished--that’s the beauty of having a soul, little guy. It’s like a little generator.”

“Oh.” Ryan nodded, then looked up at Shane. “Why...why are they taking my energy?” 

“It’s how they cross over. They can’t do it without help.” Shane offered a smile at Ryan’s panicked look. “They also can’t cross over unless you want them to. You haven’t been sending over anyone bad--”

“I’ve been helping ghosts crossover?” Ryan cut him off.

“Ye-ah,” Shane drew it out. This felt a lot like the Sally House fiasco. “Wow, you--you really didn’t know.” 

Shane wasn’t asking it this time more so as he was just stating it. He thought about texting Lucifer just as he glanced over at the camera they had set up in the corner of the room, and then he thought of all the footage they were going to have to scrub off that thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I'm gonna write a part two, but for right now I'm just gonna leave it as finished


End file.
